Evening thoughts

Tonight the sky is clear. Altogether cloudless as far as vision will carry. Slivers of pale hues stream through the seemingly timeless Douglas Firs standing immeasurably tall still after these years traversing the west for a southern boy bound to the vision of Pine forests and Black Walnut. This perspective of the cosmos on this land changed over years of use and misuse provide an ephemeral glimpse of the ages long passed populated by individuals whose names and their pronunciations long forgotten but whose bodies perhaps still fertilize this ground. For that time is not altogether lost not eternally silenced by the march of our progressive colonization of the living. I still hear the coyotes merely yards away and the breeze through these trees who were mere saplings. We are not separated from the past, yet. When the rough calloused bark makes contact with skin it is not the individual tree which is known but a family of trees reaching back before myth, before gods, before polarity before all that which we manifested. It is eternity.

The moon rises ever upward to its nightly crescendo in silence but the wild dogs seem to herald its course through the increasing lonesomeness of sound. These nights are cherished. Nights where I can sit in the deepening darkness without concern for the dawn. The time of division and separation lapses if only for a moment. This is peace. This is the time where the self and the other find union. By day we have divided and subdivided and yet again divided our lives into an ever increasing segregation of roles and tasks which have little bearing on the real only the contrived. But by evening we can, if we are quiet, if we are humble, be sewn back into the fabric that is our breath. There are no closed systems despite our attempts to compartmentalize everything. As if the health of our bodies was independent from spiritual health or the health of the soil. That our sex could be separated from our words or from our thoughts. That our work could be cloistered away from our home. In the enveloping darkness we may find unity.

The sky is still clear...Big Bear is passing slowly overhead. The air smells faintly of decay, summers decomposition. The cloudlessness and the fragrance of slow earthly death speak to the frigidity of the morning which will greet me as i rise from the grass. It is in moments such as these when clarity comes when living is far greater than making a living. When the need for life blooms in my heart. If we as a culture could collectively silence ourselves in the presence of darkness perhaps we would find no need to divide ourselves and fill in the empty spaces left behind with cheap substitutions. There is no replacement for silence, there can be no bridge to connect a divided self.

The communal farming experiment (Introduction)

 Introduction: Where philosophy and agriculture collide

Nestled in the low lying region east of the Coastal Range and west of the Cascades lies a near forty acre spread of farm land also home to one of the intentional communities here in the southern valley.  Many of these communities have come into existence in this progressive New Age haven of the Pacific Northwest. The land on which I currently reside is the dream for sustainably minded agriculturist, dreamers, half baked ex Deadheads, and urbanites looking for a reprieve from city streets, urban sprawl, and noise.  But there is a danger in bringing individuals from such various backgrounds under the banner of a "farm community" where very little farming is done and what has been done the past six years has all the hallmarks of reckless endeavors after long sessions over the bong.  The actions have all the force of a great notion absent the passion and commitment to see the notion cultivated past the point of initial excitement.  Before leases were signed the issue of starting a C.S.A. was broached and permission granted.  But like most else verbal permission is undone by unspoken reservations and withholdings. 

This self styled "farming" community has a philosophical foundation coming from a German commune called Zegg. The point of emphasis for Zegg (and the owners of this land) is that of polyamory, love, and openness in relationships (read free love) none of which I was interested in, being more "conventional" in relationships.  Upon moving onto the property questions where asked about comfort level with other peoples sexuality which made little sense to me at the time being respectful of whatever types of relationships people chose to have given they are responsible and positive even if those types of relationships are not what I chose for myself. How this philosophical underpinning relates to farming will be developed in coming segments. But here I wish to draw a line.  One cannot have a community which is agrarian in nature if the predominant philosophy is one dealing with sexuality namely sexual "liberation"  which, in this context, looks more like unfettered hedonism.  Yes, there will be much plowing and seed sowing occurring but very little of that to the actual soil.  I am not saying that polyamory is not a valid form of relationship but I am saying that a hedonistic(pleasure above all) approach to sexuality cannot translate to a proper relationship with the land which involves discipline, single minded devotion, and a long term commitment to a single portion of the land.  There are no closed systems or as my dear teacher at the ranch always said: "If you want a disciplined horse, you have to be a disciplined rider. If you want to be a disciplined rider you have to be a disciplined person. If you want to be a disciplined person you have to have a disciplined life."  One cannot farm well (or allow the land to be farmed well) if the other portions of ones  life are not handled with discipline, care, devotion, and self abnegation.

Why I farm

Much of my life has been spent within the Judeo-Christian Military-Industrial mode of existence. I am not speaking as a mere consumer of products and advertisement or as one who adheres to that technotopian version of industrial superiority but as one who was it's missionary, evangelist, and apologist. The formative childhood years where spent in the shadow of the largest coal shipping facility on the east coast as well the largest Naval installation in the United States. Being raised in a conservative Christian home attending one of the most theologically conservative churches in the rural evangelical traditions the structure and order of the world fell into a strictly regimented orthodoxy. The mantras of this upbringing consisted of: “God and Country”, “Wealth is the sign of discipline and right relationship with God”, “the government is a God ordained authority which must be honored and respected”, “technological progress is synonymous with Americas greatness and blessing from God”, “nature is only a resource for humans as the crown of Gods creation”. These and other spoken and understood messages formed the rigid framework from which the entire world and all it's subtleties fell into an understandable form. Anything that contradicted these tenants was dismissed as evil and subversive...to be shunned and reviled. Pro-life rallies and Forth of July festivities, homosexual business boycotts and anti-evolutionist training sessions where the hallmarks of a childhood spent learning to propagate certain vital components of the dominant culture. Upon leaving home the only choices seen as viable where either Bible college or military enlistment. In a sense they were the same for service to the church or the flag where parallel paths further progressing the just and righteous causes of Christ and freedom. Feeling that I had been given a specific calling I joined the ranks of the Bible College students intent on making the non believing world followers of Christ, fulfilling the “Great Commission” hastening the eminent return of Christ thus ushering in the new heaven and new earth under the Utopian perfection of God's immediate presence. In the course of striving for the fulfillment of this vision that edifice and rigid cosmology began to dissolve leaving only questions and mysteries that formulated answers and faith were powerless to stop. Gradually I began to see the destruction of natural world, the fragility of the Christian narrative in historical and anthropological terms, the arrogance of American superiority, the danger in technological progress, and the nuances and difficulties in defining wealth and poverty (and the reasons for each) in terms of right action and right relationship with God. In short nearly the whole of my upbringing was examined and found to be patently false. Yet I walked away from that world with the knowledge that the people who trained me were not dense or evil but true believers utterly devoted to a certain view of history, religion, and it's ultimate fulfillment.

The industrial portion of my life has been a relatively recent education. Along with copious research I have worked in industrial agricultural in Arkansas, the oil fields in Texas and Louisiana, and in the fabrication and manufacturing of wood chippers in Oregon. All of which include the implementation of mammoth machinery, pervasive and toxic chemical use, and the commodification of the living and of the land for the sake of commercial enterprises and development for the sake of development. The most obvious detrimental effects of this type of land use is of course the effect on the land but less obvious and just as detrimental is the effect of industry on the person both individually and collectively. The machine determines the pace of life and like it's effect on the land strips and toxifies the flesh, the mind, our sense of being human, and being a fellow living being in community with other non human beings. And again what I am most impressed with is the utter devotion the individuals employed in these industries show in their work. And again they are not dense or evil people but a people devoted to a vision they have knowingly chosen or accepted as the defacto way to live.

What I have found to be generally true in those who profess to desire an alternative way of life is unchecked hedonism, an addiction to immediacy, activism through “green” consumption, an unwillingness to be uncomfortable and tired in their work, and most importantly an unwillingness to see that we occupy these ideas from a position of privilege and that such a precarious position allows for much thought, much talk, much comfort, and little work. These faults are general and are found in each individual to varying degrees at certain times.

Both the philosophy and theology of my upbringing coupled with practices of our western economy as well my experience with others who share these critiques has led me to attempt to find a different mode of existence and different set of principles to aspire too. Not exhaustive and without much explanation they are as follows:

• The Land is not a resource to be developed or used solely for human consumption but a network of living beings which thrive in balance with one another.
• Human action on the land should be guided by the above knowledge.
• Human beings are not exempt from natural law. Technological innovation will only temporally mitigate our indulgence and exacerbate the inevitable consequences.
• The needs of the machine and production are not paramount. To submit to or to allow others to oppress humans and non humans for the sake economic gain is to devalue all life and cheapen life to the point of making life unlivable.
• Happiness is found in a simple existence living softly and responsibly on the land.
• Technological efficiency is not to be valued over slow and mindful action.
• Those that seek a different form of existence must show just as much if not more devotion than those who currently propagate and progress the dominant culture.

On a derelict pier

Stretched out across a derelict pier suspended over a hand hewn  pond the words from "The Country of Marriage" resonated silently across my eyes: "What I am learning to give you is my death to set you free of me, and me from myself into the dark and new light. Like the water of a deep stream, love is always too much." For one who has scant understanding of deep water or death these words carry a palatable mysterious tone which try as i might can not bring understanding to the idea.  There stretched out in the silence recalling touches, funerals, and oceans the words were mere abstraction pointing towards and even more nebulous reality my memory is ill prepared to contemplate. Further on in a different poem I read: "...by pain we learn the extremity of love..." There, latent in the words, seemed to be the crux and while my mind could grasp the body could not hold that truth and if understanding is to be full there can be no schism between the two.  I put the pages to rest, letting  the tobacco fall hissing to the murky water recounting all the lessons both taught and learned over twenty eight years... cataloging the practical and theoretical, labor and occupational, social and academic.  As the sun began to set westward over the wetland the deficiency  in my learning  which manifested itself like a spring day absent the songs of birds was what could be called relational (and what should be the most vital learning of all) Welling up in my solitude the absent truth filled me...and that reality spoke of self preservation and self occupation rather than self abnegation and communal occupation.  It does indeed take a lifetime to live a lifetime and if I were a praying man i would petition that it not take a lifetime to learn to love...that at the end of my days love is not the stillborn child of a fruitless legacy.

tarnished string

One song is all my fingers have been able to play for weeks and weeks. That one song that has yet to fall into completion, the words and the music fall premature. If a song had a birth certificate it would read five pounds four ounces...It's that song that always had an argument as an epilogue..."Girl from Carolina fits better..." "no...sweet girl from Arkansas sounds more fitting" and on and on that line of assertion and rebuttal would continue. How many years has that song been sung half written in kitchens and stairwells? For the life of me that recollection is lost. Granted this glass is full of wine and wine at times makes the memory falter. But that song (and the wine) brings me back to relive each moment...be it violent or tender or seemingly unremarkable and beguine which no amount of wine can make me forget...There was a time back oh some five years ago coming back to the commonwealth from empire state where wine and music made up the ebb and flow of my days. That was before I knew, that was before the world broke open and spilled it's truth in the dead center of my life, before I could ever write songs of that magnitude for one must feel the love and loss of an equal depth in order to compose a song such as that one. Art still mirrors life.

It wasn't but five weeks ago I played guitar on the stairwell for the last time. After I tried and tried to create something from the chaos I took the guitar strings and ripped them apart, so nothing more would resonate from the hollow body....and then i wept in your kitchen for reasons known and unknown. For losses felt and losses soon to make themselves manifest. That guitar was still resting in the chair when I walked out the door for the last time. It's strings hanging spent and torn...and that song will never be completed. And perhaps I will never play again...that week it wasn't simply guitar strings which lay tattered and torn but emotions and hopes that were left in shambles. And tonight....tonight...how many glasses of wine has it taken to simply put these words down, thoughts, damn worthless thoughts but two paragraphs....there is nothing to get right if it can't be written. But nevertheless I have played that song for weeks and each time it has sprung forth from lips and fingers the words remain "sweet girl from Arkansas..." and so it will remain as late and unwelcome as the conclusion to any argument. It should have always played that way. And in this case I wish I could go back and make life mirror art.